Chapter 8 Misjudgment and Match

Dayna POV

With Suzanne's help, I changed into a clean nightgown and returned to the dining room. My eyes still weren't fully healed, but I could make out blurred shapes and shadows now—enough to see Mr. Booth's tall silhouette still seated at the table.

I heard the clink of silverware—he was still eating, as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't just humiliated myself completely.

"Mr. Booth, I..." My voice came out small, uncertain. "I'm so sorry about earlier. If I've ruined your furniture or caused you any trouble—"

"Dayna." His voice cut through my rambling apology, sharp and cold. "I told you to stop apologizing."

I bit my lip, falling silent. Why did he sound so angry? Was it because of my embarrassing mishap?

If he was upset about my presence here, about the inconvenience I'd caused... I needed to know where I stood. I swallowed hard, gathering courage.

"Mr. Booth," I began carefully, "are you... I mean, tonight, are you planning to sleep here?"

"I don't sleep in my own home, where would I sleep?" His tone was arctic.

Of course. What a stupid question.

I bit my lip harder, tasting copper. "I didn't mean—I just thought maybe you had another place, or—"

I heard his chair scrape against the floor. His blurred form rose from the table. Without another word, he walked away. A door opened and closed—the master bedroom, I assumed.

I sat frozen in the sudden silence. What did I do wrong? He'd been so kind earlier, and now he could barely stand to be in the same room with me.

"Did I..." I turned toward where I thought Suzanne was standing. "Did I upset him somehow?"

"Oh, honey." Suzanne's hand patted my shoulder gently. "I don't think it's you at all. Mr. Booth had a long day. You know how these corporate types are."

Corporate types. Right. Mr. Booth worked for some big company, didn't he? Maybe he'd had a bad day at the office, and my awkward questions had been the last straw.

But another thought had been nagging at me. I lowered my voice, leaning closer to Suzanne.

"Suzanne, can I ask you something? And please be honest with me."

"Of course, dear."

"Is Mr. Booth... I mean, is he..." How did one phrase this delicately? "Is he perhaps not very good-looking? Is that why he seems so... uncomfortable around me? Maybe he's self-conscious about his appearance?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before Suzanne burst into laughter. "Oh my goodness," she gasped between giggles. "No, dear. No, that's absolutely not the problem."

"Are you sure?" I pressed, unconvinced. "Because he seems very... distant. Like he doesn't want me to see him clearly."

"Trust me, Dayna." Suzanne's voice was warm with amusement. "When your eyes heal completely, you'll understand. Mr. Booth's appearance is definitely not something anyone would call a problem."

After dinner, I lay in my bedroom, my thoughts swirling in the darkness.

Less than a week ago, I'd been living in that run-down apartment; now I was in a luxury apartment in Lakeside Heights, married to a man whose first name I didn't even know, recovering from eye surgery that cost more than my entire scholarship.

My hand drifted to my abdomen, where the cramping that usually accompanied my period was notably absent. No pain this month.

Proper nutrition. Reduced stress. Things I'd never associated with my life before.

I thought about the future. I'd return to Hudson Business School, throw myself into my studies. I'd work harder than anyone, get excellent grades, and find a good job after graduation.

Then I'd pay back Mr. Booth. Every single penny he'd spent on me. I'd keep careful records and calculate interest if necessary. I wouldn't be in debt to anyone.

My mind drifted to Mr. Booth himself, trying to piece together an image from the blurred impressions I'd gathered.

He was tall—I'd noticed that the first time I saw him. His silhouette suggested broad shoulders, a commanding presence. When he spoke, his voice came from considerably above my own height.

His face remained a mystery, but I tried to imagine it. Probably square-jawed, maybe a heavy brow that made him look stern and unapproachable. Thick lips pressed into a constant frown—that would explain the coldness in his voice.

Not handsome, I decided drowsily. Probably rather plain, actually. His discomfort with me seeing him clearly, his distance, and the way he'd quickly disappeared into his bedroom—it all made sense now.

Poor Mr. Booth, I thought as sleep began to claim me. He's been so kind to me, and he probably thinks I'll be disappointed when I can finally see him properly.

I'd make sure to show him it didn't matter. That I was grateful regardless of what he looked like.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, waking me gently. I stretched beneath the covers, luxuriating in the simple pleasure of waking without fear.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I remembered my thoughts from the night before.

Even if Mr. Booth looks like a toad, I'll still be thankful. He saved me from a life of misery. What does it matter if he's not conventionally attractive?

---

Martha POV

The morning sun streamed through the windows of my sitting room at the Booth estate as I settled into my favorite armchair with my tea. My phone rang promptly at nine—Bradley.

"Grandmother." His voice was clipped. "I wanted to update you on the debris incident."

"You found who was responsible?" I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Renata Sullivan." The name dripped with contempt. "She paid the construction crew to 'accidentally' drop materials at a specific time. They've confessed to everything."

I felt a chill run through me despite the warm sunlight. That calculating girl living in Bonnie's house.

"I've already begun applying pressure to the Sullivans," Bradley continued. "Withdrawn all Booth Tech investments from their enterprises."

"Bradley." I kept my voice gentle but firm. "The Sullivans are old friends. Bonnie and I have known each other for decades. Don't be too harsh."

"Too harsh?" His laugh was bitter. "She tried to kill you."

"Renata tried to kill me. Not the Sullivans."

"Same thing."

"It's not, and you know it." I sighed. "Jonas and Bonnie are decent people. Steven is a good young man. They can't help what that girl has become."

"Fine." But I could hear the stubbornness in his tone. "I have my own arrangements."

Which meant he'd do exactly as he pleased.

We said our goodbyes, and I'd barely finished my tea when my butler appeared at the door.

"Mrs. Booth? Steven Sullivan is here to see you. He says it's urgent."

Ah. So Bradley's "arrangements" were already having an effect.

"Show him in."

Steven entered looking haggard, his usually immaculate appearance rumpled.

"Mrs. Booth, I heard about what happened to you. Are you alright?"

I took a sip of tea. "Still here. But that's not why you're here, right?"

His tone shifted. "Actually, no. Bradley has withdrawn all investments from our companies. Our stock prices are plummeting. What's happening?"

I studied him carefully. "Tell me, Steven, how is your mother? I heard she hasn't been well."

He blinked at the apparent subject change. "She... she's resting. As usual."

"Good to know." I paused deliberately. "The problem, Steven, isn't with your family. It's with someone in your household."

"I don't understand."

"Your sister." I let the word hang in the air. "Or should I say, the young woman your mom calls your sister."

His face went pale. "Mrs. Booth, I—"

"Everyone in our circle knows the truth," I said gently but firmly. "You lost your real sister many years ago. And the girl living in your house now just happens to look similar enough that your grief-stricken mom convinced herself otherwise. As her brother, don't you think you should look into what she's been up to?"

Steven's jaw clenched. "You mean—"

"Exactly." I softened my tone. "Handle Renata appropriately, and I'll speak with Bradley about reinstating our business relationships. For Bonnie's sake."

After Steven left, I found myself thinking about his features—the shape of his eyes and the elegant bone structure he'd inherited from his mother.

And then it hit me.

Dayna.

I'd only seen her briefly, but I remembered those same emerald green eyes and that delicate jawline. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became.

Dayna looked almost exactly like Bonnie had in her youth.

I reached for my phone. "Yes, it's me. Listen, I need you to find some old photographs of Bonnie Sullivan. From when she was in her early twenties..."

As I waited, one thought kept circling in my mind: If Dayna truly was the real Sullivan daughter... well, that would make her and Bradley even more perfectly matched, wouldn't it?